PROSTATE CANCER KILLS BLACK MEN MORE. So why are we left out of the cure?

BY M. IGNATIUS

I was sat on my sofa last night, half-watching the evening news while scrolling through my phone. Nothing unusual—until a report came on about a promising new trial for prostate cancer. My ears pricked up. I’ve got reason to care. My dad died of it. I was 25 when we lost him—strong, proud, stubborn to a fault—and it still haunts me. 

So, when I hear the words “prostate cancer” and “breakthrough” in the same sentence, I pause. I want to believe we’re getting somewhere. That all those years of grief, of watching someone waste away, of fearing the same fate myself, might lead to something better. Something hopeful. 

But then the segment continued. It said the trial group was entirely men of European descent. NOT A SINGLE BLACK MAN.

You know when your heart sinks? That dull, heavy drop in your chest like something’s just been confirmed that you didn’t want to admit? That was it for me. 

How, in 2025, are we still here? Still testing life-saving treatments on groups that don’t reflect the actual risk pool? Because here’s the thing—and it's not new information—Black men, particularly those of African and Caribbean heritage, are twice as likely to develop prostate cancer** as white men. Twice. Yet we’re invisible when it comes to research that might one day save our lives. 

I’m tired of the excuses. Tired of hearing that “recruitment is difficult” or “the sample wasn’t large enough.” You’ve got time and money to run the trial, but you haven’t got the interest to make it representative? That’s not science—it’s laziness. Or worse, it's disregard. 

This isn’t just about one study. It’s part of a pattern. **Clinical trials across the board overwhelmingly favour white participants**, especially those of European ancestry. Cardiovascular disease, diabetes, asthma—you name it. Research after research comes out, and the same faces show up in the data. Not ours. 

A 2020 report by the UK’s National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) highlighted that ethnic minority groups are underrepresented in health research. No surprise there. Even during COVID, when the government knew full well that Black and Asian communities were dying at higher rates, the vaccine trials didn’t reflect that. We were still scrambling around trying to convince people to take the jab while also asking why their data wasn't being included in early testing. 

And they wonder why there’s mistrust. Why some people hesitate when the NHS comes calling for a screening or a blood test or a vaccine. It’s not conspiracy theories we’re clinging to—it’s lived experience. It’s generations of being left out, overlooked, or studied only when convenient. 

I don’t want to be part of a news story in 10 years’ time about how a life-saving treatment doesn't work as well for Black men. Or how side effects were worse in our group because we weren’t included in trials. I don’t want my sons—or my nephews—to sit where I sat last night, wondering if the system is really built for people like us. 

It’s not just about data. It’s about dignity. About saying our lives matter enough to be considered from the start—not as an afterthought. Representation in clinical trials isn’t a “nice to have.” It’s the bare minimum. 

So, to the researchers, the funders, the universities, and the pharmaceutical companies: do better. You can’t fix what you refuse to see. 

And to the rest of us, especially Black men in the UK—get angry. Ask questions. Demand transparency. If they’re testing treatments without us, then they’re not for us. 

I’ve already lost one man I loved to prostate cancer. I refuse to go quietly into that same dark just because no one could be bothered to test people who look like me.